Spirit of Jefferson. [volume] (Charles Town, Va. [W. Va.]) 1844-1948, 1887-11-22
MISCELLANEOUS.
Our Thanksgiving.

with merry voices, with eIoudlcss faces and
happy hearts.
remember just how yellow and murlsy the
sunshine lay on the floors that morning, and
how I thought the wind walled about the cor
ners of the house-to me it had no frolic. The
children came in from play while was at
work. all flushed and eager, and happy, jost-
ling and pushing each other good naturedly in
the entry.
Dinner time came at last and they gathered
round the table gIecfuIly-just as gIeefuIIy, l
thought, with half bitterness, as if they had
all been there.
"why, what's this for?" asked Harry, stop
ping. "Mother, you've got one chair too
many.
"Hush, Harry-I know-don't you see7"
and then Lucy finished her senteuSS in whls-
per.
Why had ] done it; hardly knew. To lay
plate by-that place that always was by mine
but you know how dear these little things be-
c6ide to women sometimes.
So 1 had put 1t there-the empty chair and
with its pitiful, appealing blankness beside me,
1 sat down to the festival meal. remember
just how everything looked, US in a picture
my husbands face, with it's peaceful smile, and
the children grouped around in the old places {;
and q feck of yellow sunlight that had fallen
in through the warm south window upon the
table cloth. Iremcmber everything. knew
that John had just bowed his head to ask
blessing eo our food, and the children's eyes
were closed, when I saw saw as distinctly
as 1 see this paper upon which write the
words-a shadow fall across the empty chair.
turued my head. and saw him. my dead
boy Willie. know it was Willie. You need
not doubt me, for l tell you cannot be mis-
taken, Should not 1 knew him, I, his mother7
1 looked deep. deep into his eyes. saw the
old, rare smile; touched his own bright curls
upon his forehead spoke to him he spoke
to me.
"Willie!"
''MOther.''
The voice was breathIcss, but IT was his.
q williei willie!" - - .
Again the old, rare eihiie. with one hand
he 1nntiened silenee.s 1His father,E Rnice hnshed
the amen, and the children looked up and be-
gan their chatter.
"Did you speak to me, Mary3" asked my
husband
"Ne.f'
"why, thought some one spoke during the
blessing"
So they did not see him. Ialonc was chosen.
1 looked into his face, smiling, smiling down
into mine tenderIy-Sod cannot know how
tenderly but in his eyes saw-and thought
my heart would break to sec it,-a certain, sad,
reproachful look. that had caught on his face
once, years ago. when accused hiui of injus-
tice of some trifing, childish fault-a look that
had haunted me in many a still hour since
And then heard him say distinctly, though to
not another car was the brCat.rlcss voice audi
BILE:
81 want them to be happy. 1 want you to
enjoy the day. Did you think should not be
with you, motLcr?"
He was with me, thank God, and was hap
py. talked, 1 laughed, chatted with the
children; their merTimcnt increased with
mine; my husbands pale face lighted up
felt my own eyes sparkling. And all the
while, where they saw only that empty chair,
saw the beautiful still face and happy smile.
saw him pleased with the old familiar Gus
toms. l saw him mindful of the chfldreu's
jests. 1 saw his eyes full of their own home
love, turn from one to another and back again
to me-I saw and was content All that day
he was beside me- he followed us into the
sitting room md took his old scat by the cczy
fire. He listened TO his fathers stories and
watched the children at their games, and Joined
US when we gathered around the piano for our
thiIight song. heard his voice; the children
asked what made me sing so clearly.
Just as the shades began to fall heavily he
dew me toward bin by the frost bound win
dow. He stopped and kissed me. He took me
l,fz
"Did you think should not be with you,
motlier!''
Aud then 1 missed him. t called to him. but
he did not answer. 1 stretched out my arms
to him, but he did not come back to me. The
room grew dark; my head swan; tottered
over to my husband.
''Oh, John have lost him.
" "Mary-why, ASfti what Is the matter -
and he cangbt me in his arms.
looked up. L was not in the psrlor by the
frost bound window; the children were not
beside me. The sitting room fire had died
down into the ashes; the door into the hall
was open. and my husband lad on his over
coat He was holding me tightly In his arms.
II thought-oh, John John!" And then
told him all my dream. When had finished
he was still long time,-then--
Mary, perhaps the boy has been to you-"
At this moment the clock on the manteI
struck I2. We listened to its strokes tin the
last one died away
SIT is Thanksgiving morning" said my
husband, solemnIy.
When the morning really came, with its
fresh, frolicing .frdS and sunlight, and blue
skies; with its merry faces and gay voices, and
the happy children rapping at my door, 1
thought of what he said, f" Perhaps the boy
has been to you" Sometimes think he must
have been. so teal and sweet is. esen now, the
memory of his coming. an that day he stood
beside me. All that day saw his peaceful
face, and felt the blessing of his smile, and
heard his low, sweet voice. What for months
had looked upon and fcareti with the bitter
ness of a great dread. the face, and smile, and
voice made almost painless.
The chiIdren's merry greetings did not hurt
me; my fingers did not tremble when they
twined the fresh green leaves about the walls.
The older children went with us to church
that morning. The little church was vers stfll
and pleasant, and somehow the service stole
away down into my heart. It was NO eloquent
preacher that we heard; only a plain man,
with Gods pIainest gifts Of mind and culture !
But the day Ses real to him, and listened